


Light my shadow

by RobinWritesChirps



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23963029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinWritesChirps/pseuds/RobinWritesChirps
Summary: With a heavy heart, Tom comes home from war and is greeted by his parents, his family, his dog… and Becky Barnes.No Stanley AU where Becky waited for Tom. Fluffy hurt/comfort, emphasis on ’hurt’.
Relationships: Becky Barnes/Tom Houston
Comments: 19
Kudos: 22





	Light my shadow

**Author's Note:**

> This was written to fill a prompt I received on Tumblr, "Finding old photographs you’d forgotten about".

Tom came home the earliest days of summer and the heat stuck to him like a bad memory.

The flight back, he was surrounded by the men he knew and had fought with, yet they hardly exchanged a word for the many, many hours it took to fly them back to the country they had so nobly defended − or so they were praised for. At the first stop, he exchanged goodbyes with some of his brothers in arms and noted in his heart that he would never see them again. He wondered if he regretted that. If he was grateful for it. At the second stop, even more accolades. By the third flight, he was the only remaining soldier from his troop, the only hero, broken soul going home to Michigan. He stared out the window and watched unfold the array of fields and cities and woods that were supposedly the ground whose liberties he had valiantly fought for. He turned the other side and closed his eyes.

His parents greeted him at the terminal with hugs and kisses galore. His mother shed a few tears, his father held him tight and congratulated him before punching his shoulder and grabbing his bag for him on their way out and home. In the car, Tom watched outside the window of the backseat the cityscape turn to fields and pastures, then back to city again in the narrowing distance as they neared Hatchetfield. The horizon of a place he had known all his life, the exact layout and shape of its buildings burned into his memory without him even realizing but now coming back anew. A few changes here and there, some houses rebuilt differently, others torn down, but the same city overall, the same air he breathed in deep as a refreshing breeze gushed from the opened windows. Pollution, mostly. It was better than sand and smoke.

Home was the same, perhaps as great a relief as his parents themselves. The same sun-lit kitchen, the same old-fashioned worn leather couches, a citrus smell in the air from his mother having cleaned seemingly from top to bottom, everything neat and tidy for once. The dog had been napping under the coffee table but perked up at his sight and nearly climbed up in his arms so excited he was. Tom took the affection, the boundless joy. On the compound, there had been working dogs and a few stray cats Tom had befriended on the down low, missing his home and missing his dog. Being home, holding and petting him again, he wondered why he wasn’t feeling the comfort he had been hoping for. He put on a smile for his mother and then let her usher him upstairs to clean up. A warm shower, cozy and serene after months of rushed cold showers at dawn, Tom cleansed away the grime, the exhaustion, but something uncomfortable still clung to every part of him no matter how thoroughly he rubbed. Maybe it would never come off. He changed into clean clothes his mother had laid out for him while he was under the shower and felt a little better. Red t-shirt, baggy cargo pants, he felt casual again for the first time in months.

Of course, a grand meal of his favorite things, of course, a few cousins and aunts come to pay their respect to the brave little soldier boy back from war. His posture and manliness were praised, something about the way he held himself, a more mature look in his eyes. An uncle talked about his time in Vietnam, his wife looking down at her plate in silent sorrow. Tom had never been one to take praise easily, so nothing must have looked out of place as he nodded sternly and gave his thanks with a bit of stiffness. The army had made him so much more rigid and cold than he imagined he had ever been at the start, yet none of them seemed to see the change. He wondered what that said about who he had been. Or who he was now. He had no idea who he was now.

The door rang shortly after lunch and his mom was a flutter of excitement as she prompted him to go open himself. Tom obeyed. He had gotten singularly good at obeying.

"Becky…"

The same adorable smile, the dimples, soft blue-gray eyes he had lost himself into so many times before last year, but who had Tom Houston been last year, an painful eternity ago? Her hair had changed a little, cut shorter at some point during the months he had been away. It was pretty. She was every bit as beautiful as the Becky ever on his mind all that time on the field. For the first time, he truly smiled.

"I brought pie," she said and held up a towel-wrapped dish that smelled heavenly.

Cherry pie, his favorite, was shared between everyone but Tom only had eyes for Becky now. It wasn’t that Becky had been the only relief he allowed himself in the feeble imagination of his own mind out there. His family had been chief in his thoughts too, his dog − now under his chair batting his tail happily − and certainly his home. But Becky, the last kiss before he had left, the tears in her eyes she had never shed for his sake… Timidly, her hand brushed against his lap under the table and Tom grasped it and held it there. They glanced at each other and smiled.

"I’m tired," he announced after dessert. "Jetlag, I’m sorry. I’ll go lie down."

Immediately, a ricochet of sweet words of understanding and Tom stood and climbed the stairs two by two. He noted how short of breath he was by the time he shut his bedroom door behind him. Nothing to do with his shape, nothing with the exhaustion either, only the pretense. He was afraid without knowing what he was afraid of. Every step was floating from unknown to greater unknown and he was so tired. He had been tired for a long time. He didn’t know whether his life truly belonged to him anymore.

His room grounded him, if only a little bit. The same old pine wood bed and desk and dresser built by his father with his help the summer he was thirteen years old. His mother had left a bunch of flowers in a vase on his nightstand and the air was sweet with their scent. Everything was put away, not so much like his presence here had been erased but more like his mom had had one good productive afternoon and cleaned up the whole house, including in here, like she had made the place nice and cozy for him. A photograph had been tucked into a corner of his mirror and he pried it from the frame with hesitant fingers. Dropping onto the bed, he held it up and stared at the face like he had never seen it in his life.

His mother had taken the picture and must have printed it too. He still remembered the day it had been taken − how could he ever forget? − though he had tried to not think about it. The crisp fabric of his uniform, shiny heavy boots he was still getting used to back then, hair cropped as short as could be, a bag and a future too heavy for his shoulders. He had not been smiling for the sake of looking more mature, more serious, though there was some joy and pride in those eyes that now stared at him smugly, foolishly. Not yet a year ago and still Tom did not know the stranger who had looked like him. His chest now felt too tight, restraining something he had no idea how to let out. He had no idea what it was, either.

A gentle knock at the door graciously tore him from his thoughts.

"Tom?" Becky asked softly. "Are you still awake?"

His chest clenched again, but this time he knew just why. At least this was welcome.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, come on in."

There was a naughty proud smile all over her face as she showed off a slice of pie she had brought him.

"I saved you the last piece," she said. "For seconds."

Tom smiled, taking the plate she offered. Homemade with love, he was sure, some more of that taste of home. It was delicious. Becky was thrilled to see him enjoy it and combed soft fingers through his hair. She could do that again now, reunited after all and enough hair on his head. A pale simile of her affection from before.

"Are you really tired?" She asked coyly.

Tom huffed in silent laughter. He scooted to the side of the bed to leave an empty spot for her to fill, an offer Becky took very readily. The slice of pie had been brought for him, but he knew she would enjoy sharing it and he handed her the spoon.

"I am," he said truthfully. "Sorry."

Becky munched on a spoonful of her pie but swallowed it down quickly to ask.

"Do you want me to leave you?"

"No."

The instant reply seemed to startle her, though she smiled. Tom smiled back. He had thought it for months, but finally speaking out his sincere desire soothed him. He didn’t want her to leave. He never wanted to be apart again, not from her, not from his house, his town. But especially not from her.

Before he had left, they had more or less broken up, a mutual decision that long distance would not suit either of them. Becky had had her life before her, as she still did, and Tom had had greater things to focus on. Now back at her side, he wondered what those things had been. The American way. Life, liberty… The pursuit of happiness seemed to make sense only in the smile of Becky Barnes as she grasped the forgotten picture from his hands.

"What’s this?"

He took the empty plate from her hands to set it aside as she stared down at the photo with an expression he could not quite decipher. His own confusion seemed to blur his comprehension of other people’s opinions too and he wasn’t sure he understood anyone anymore, least of all himself. Becky turned to him and held up the picture to compare Tom of the past to present Tom. She smiled.

"You’ve packed even more muscle since then," she said teasingly. "How much more of a hunk are you gonna be the next time you come back?"

Tom’s heart throbbed uncomfortably and he grabbed the photo to shove it into a drawer of his night stand, printed side down. Becky looked at him, lips pursed in worry and he felt terrible for causing her sorrow.

"I’m not going back," he said after some tense silence. He sighed. "I’m never going back."

He had not dared to think it before, but as soon as the words were uttered, he realized how completely honest they were and he knew he would make them a reality no matter the cost. His hands flexed and trembled despite himself and he was startled by Becky’s soft fingers grasping his, entwining them together. The way her small hand looked clasped in his, a tenderness he wasn’t certain he deserved. What these hands had done… When he looked at her again, into her pretty eyes as bright and soothing as the sky on a clear day, they shook a little less and when she pulled them to her lips to kiss his calloused knuckles, the shivers stopped entirely. In Becky’s good care, even the most daunting of horrors were a little more bearable. He leaned his head against the headboard and invited her in his embrace.

"Then don’t go back," she whispered as she snuggled into his side.

Despite everything, despite how unworthy he felt of her affection, he was soothed by her presence, the way she held him just as close as before, closer even.

"I’ve missed you," he said. Having her back against him, discovering once again the exact sensation of her arms around him, her face tucked into his neck, the sweet fruity smell of her hair, he knew he never wanted to miss out on it again. Maybe he had known that all along. "I love you."

She looked up at him. Almost shy, she leaned up to press a soft kiss against his lips and checked in his eyes if it was welcome. Tom held her cheek and kissed her again. She had some lip gloss on, a taste he couldn’t quite place but he didn’t care in the least. He kissed her.

"Tom…"

He held her close to him, buried his face in the crook of her neck to breathe her in. She was so warm, so soft. He had always thought there was a something a little fragile about her, not by any weakness but by the goodness of her heart, vulnerable because she gave out the tenderest parts of her so freely. He had imagined that he was protecting people like her, what was left of precious innocence in the world, but he didn’t reckon he had done that at all. Maybe the safer place for Becky was in his arms and nowhere else.

"I’ll find a job," he said. "Tomorrow, next week, I don’t know. Earn some money, get my own place."

He yawned and stretched his legs to make himself more comfortable. The future was cloudy, but felt a little neater the closer he held her against him. He was so tired and she was so very precious and warm in his arms.

"Your own place, huh?"

She smirked. Pulling back slightly, she touched his hair again. It had started to curl a little and she twirled her finger in it. He turned his face to kiss her wrist and her smile turned softer.

"It’s grown so much," she said a little wistfully. She cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand and gave him a kiss. "As you have. You’re a man now. I’m so proud of you."

If only manhood had come from the passing of time alone and not from the blood of others on his hands. Not at the cost of killing the boy he had been last year. And still, Becky’s hands on him, Becky pressing herself up against him to beg for his cuddles, Becky kissing him like he was still that boy. If he dared to imagine it, he could picture a life for them, working honest wages to provide for her, going to sleep and waking up in her embrace, mornings and evenings in each other’s company only, maybe a baby or two in a few years. She wanted to study, he knew, and later he would have to catch up and ask her how the plans had narrowed down for after her graduation, but they had all the time for that discussion another day. He could spend the rest of his life without ever parting from her, if he had his way. What Becky wanted, he could only guess.

He realized he had fallen asleep only many hours later when he woke up again. Jetlag obliged, he must have slept a full night’s worth for the dim near-darkness outside the window. The air was warm, almost too much so but he was used to the heat by now. He blinked a few times, a little sleepy despite the rest. Becky was still in his arms. She had been turned the other way, her back comfortably pressed to his chest, but looked back when she noticed he was awake to give him a smile. The book she had been reading was placed on the nightstand and Tom wondered if she had picked it herself from his bookcase across the room and tucked herself back into his embrace while he’d slept, or if someone else had helped her to it.

"You’re still here," he said.

His voice was raspier than he had thought and he cleared his dry throat. Becky touched his face, his cheek. He had missed the feel of her hands, the soft, soft tap of her fingertips against his skin. All the details he loved about her were coming back as she reawakened all those old memories and created new ones. He had been so worried never to see her again, by her choice or not. Never especially religious, he had even prayed about it every night he was out there.

"Of course I’m still here," she said with that sass she could give him sometimes, bordering close to smugness but never outright crossing the line. "I’ll always, always be."

They kissed. He was still tired and sore, and surely Becky would have to go home to her parents at some point, but in this moment, there was nothing else at all than the touch of her hands and the feel of her lips under his. He forgot − only for a brief moment − that he was broken, he forgot the wrong he had done and the part of himself he had lost on the war field. Becky almost gave it back to him, her tenderness recreating a phantom sensation of who he thought he had been before. She kissed him, and he felt a little less vile, a little less hollow, brick by brick reshaped into a semblance of himself. Maybe some day she might build him whole again.

Or maybe she wouldn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment! And also send any prompt my way on my tumblr musicalsandfluff for Starkid pairings.


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